


Deeper than Ink

by Elvishdork



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Gen, Gender Neutral MC - Freeform, Magic, Pact Marks, Pact Sigils
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:28:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 7,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27596858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elvishdork/pseuds/Elvishdork
Summary: There are all sorts of ways to be touched by magic.  Pacts with demons are perhaps the most common, but celestial beings form oaths and humans - ever adaptable - have forged their own ways too.
Comments: 34
Kudos: 163





	1. Mammon

**Author's Note:**

> My take on how making pacts works and feels in game. Plus some extra bonus funsies. I wanted an opportunity to explore what I headcanon their magic might feel like too.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Art inspiration from @ObAngye on Twitter. Their art of Solomon with all of this pact sigils is *chef’s kiss*. [[Art Can Be Found Here](https://twitter.com/ObAngye/status/1244769605106704385?s=20)]
> 
> Also, I got some inspiration for later chapters involving Solomon, Simeon and Luke from Writing-for-me-at-this-point’s Tumblr post. Bee’s writing is super good and you can go check that out [Here](https://writing-for-me-at-this-point.tumblr.com/post/620750197971091456/pact-marks-all-brothers) and [Here](https://writing-for-me-at-this-point.tumblr.com/post/621132786553782272/pact-marksblessingsblood-pact-undateables)

Perhaps it is because he is their first, or because they weren’t quite sure what to expect, but the experience leaves them breathless.

“Of course I’ll make a pact with you,” he says, all smiles as they held his precious Goldie in their hand. The best bargaining chip in all three realms. That’s how it had started: their first pact in exchange not for their soul but for the limitless credit card.

He snatched the card from their fingers, pocketing it in the blink of an eye; and then his hand came to rest on their chest. With a golden gleam in his eyes, he began to speak the words of binding in Infernal. A harsh, grumbling sound that rattles out of his chest as magic begins to spread from his fingertips into their skin.

Words the human has never heard before, in a language that is almost startling in how powerful it sounds. They’re not wrong about the feeling, words carry a lot of weight in magical matters as they’re about to learn in the coming days.

Mammon feels the moment the bonding magic takes, his own power being pulled into the human though his hand on their chest. It feels something like a high as his power runs through their body, across their skin, in their veins, and brushing past their impossibly shiny soul. All his power searching for a place to settle and seal the pact. Like watching a lightning strike in slow motion, all of the tiny branches arching out across the vast sky before one makes contact with the ground. 

For the human, it doesn’t feel like lighting so much as it does like their veins are being filled with molten gold. It is hot, but not unbearable or painful. Their thoughts swirl and go fuzzy at the edges under Mammon's power running through them. The taste of metal settles on their tongue as the pact begins to take form. 

He is the first to form a pact with them. The first to stake his claim; it is his choice to direct his power where to form within them. Leaning into his powers only outmatched by Lucifer, Lord Diavolo, and the old, slumbering demon King, he directs his energy where to settle within them. 

The feeling that had spread everywhere within their body begins to pool back towards their chest. The molten feeling begins to subside, like cooling metal, and the sigil takes form below their left clavicle.

Their hand comes up to push the collar of their shirt aside to see. They find the golden sigil writing itself into their skin over the area above their pectoral, glowing faintly as each rune solidifies its formation. It's golden, shimmery magic beginning to dull into a metallic yellow as it settles within them.

Mammon’s eyes settle upon the mark and the hand on their chest drifts over to it. His fingertips trace the golden outline of the runes, _his_ runes. There is a satisfied smile on his face as he inspects his handiwork.

“What does it say?” they ask, voice small.

Mammon’s fingertips linger on his mark for a moment longer. His eyes drink in the golden color of it on their skin.

“My name in Infernal,” he says, tracing each set of runes as he translates, “greed, bond, and protection.” 

They look back down at themselves, at his mark and some part of his mind delights in the way this human - _his_ human - looks at his symbol: his name and his power.

A part of his mind purrs: _Mine_.


	2. Leviathan

Leviathan’s pact comes on the heels of his tantrum during the TSL contest. In the planetarium they find him and agree to start over on better footing with him. 

They accept his pact.

After Mammon’s they anticipate the intensity, but there’s really no preparing for a pact with one of the Avatars of Sin. 

Levi’s hand hesitates before his fingertips touch their chest in the same place that Mammon had placed his whole palm. But the fingertips are all that he’s comfortable with, making the connection necessary without putting the whole of his hand on their chest.

A blush creeps across his cheeks, feeling their heartbeat for a moment before he begins. He stammers, trying to get his voice started before he finds the confidence to begin the words of binding in infernal. 

They feel his magic begin to steep into their being: first their skin, then their veins. Mammon’s felt like molten metal, but Leviathan’s they find feels like water: icy cold. 

Levi’s magic brushes against Mammon’s and he has to bite back a growl, suddenly territorial. He is the third-born and, though he is outranked, he will not be outdone by Mammon of all beings. Finding the sigil of his older brother below their clavicle, he decides to focus on the place above it: the spot on top of their shoulder. 

Let them see his sigil every time they see Mammon’s, he thinks to himself. He won’t be forgotten or overshadowed that way.

They feel the magic running within their being begin to rush towards their shoulder. Where it once felt like running water, it begins to feel like ice crystals forming. Not painful, but the sensation is odd. They push their sleeve aside to see, and they find the orange sigil writing itself into their skin in a familiar fashion to their last pact.

Almost as large as Mammon’s is just above their pectoral, Leviathan’s sigil comes just shy of touching the border of Mammon’s. It wraps across the top of their shoulder, they need to crane their neck back to see the end of it behind them. The orange magic, as it settles, takes on a sheen like light dancing on water. 

Seeing it in their skin and satisfied, Levi pulls his hand away.

“What part of it is your name?” they ask Leviathan. He gapes at them a bit, but runs the tip of his finger along a small series of infernal runes. 

They nod, taking in the sight of his name on their skin. “And the rest of it?” they ask.

“Envy, bond, and uh...friendship.” he translates, coughing the last word out into his fist.

While the human admires his mark a moment longer, Leviathan finds that the nagging resentful desire that usually swirls within him has subsided. If only for a small while.


	3. Beezlebub

He offers his pact after the events of the crypt; after the incident of tearing down the wall between the kitchen and their bedroom; and after searching for Luke and finding the replica of Lilith’s hidden within the House.

Beezlebub is not one to make pacts with humans often. Though strangely enough this feels less like a pact and more like solidifying a bond: one that feels similar to how sees the rest of his family.

Though he is not one to often make pacts, when his hand comes up to their chest, he knows the words to say. The words of binding in infernal leave his lips as he begins to push some of his power into them.

The energy that runs throughout their body feels like it’s buzzing. It twitches and gnaws, like a thousand tiny insects invading their veins. It itches, and they resist the urge to squirm where they stand.

Beezlebub feels his magic brush up against Leviathan and Mammon’s, and he ignores them for a better placement. Finding that neither has taken his favorite spot, he’s all too happy to begin directing his power to begin settling in the place between their diaphragm and their navel. 

The itching and crawling sensation intensifies over their stomach, and when the worst of it subsides they lift their shirt up to inspect their newest mark. They find that it glows red as the runes finish forming.

Beezlebub’s hand drops from their chest to his mark in their skin, his thumb brushing along the underside of it as it goes through the final bits of formation. He nods his head at the sight, oddly satisfied at the seeing it and it’s placement.

“Which runes are your name?” they ask, taking in the sight of the intricate runes on their skin. Beel's mark has an intricacy to it in the geometric patters it displays: like insect wings and the hexagons of insect eyes. Such tiny little details running the border and amid the runes. 

“These,” he says as he runs a finger along his name. 

“That one I know means bond,” they say, pointing at the tiny bit of familiar Infernal writing. They recognize it from their other two pacts. “What does the rest say?”

“This one is Gluttony,” Beel says, pointing at another part of his sigil. “This means defend.” 

It feels right for the human who stood between him and Lucifer’s wrath.


	4. Asmodeus

Asmodeus offers his pact during the retreat at Lord Diavolo’s castle. In the aftermath of their summoning him to deal with Henry 1.0 a second time. 

He does it in the foyer of the castle, with all eyes upon them. Normally he would like to make it a far more intimate event, get him and his new partner into bed for the solidification of his pact; but instead he settles for placing his hand on their chest and speaking the words he knows so well. 

It might not be as intimate as he would like, but oh how it is just as satisfying to see everyone’s reactions as his magic begins to pull into the human. Solomon has that cat-got-the-cream smile, whereas the two angel’s bristle at the beginning formation of his pact in their skin.

His magic runs up and down their body, under their skin and in their veins too. The sensation is warm and smooth, like fingertips running across their skin.

Asmodeus’ magic goes past his brother’s, dipping lower on their body. Some might assume he would go for the inner thighs - which he has done many times before - but oh how he loves hips too. How they’re the perfect part to hold onto in the heat of the moment, pulling bodies flush against one another. Their right hip is the spot he chooses. 

They can feel the familiar sensation of magic solidifying in their skin, but amid a crowd they’re not about to pull the waistline of their pants down to inspect their newest marking. 

Asmo’s hand pulls away and he winks at them. Then the moment is past and they have the rest of their day to attend to.

They both wait until they’re back in their shared room to get a proper view of it. Asmo’s fingers brushing along the writing along their hip bone. He pulls at the little bit of his magic within them to see his mark glow pink on their skin. It’s a sight he falls in love with, seeing his name and his power on their skin.

Everything about his mark is beautiful. It looks like flowers and thorns are interwoven into the runes. It's pattern is mesmerizing. "I know this means bond,” they say, pointing and translating the small part of infernal in his mark. “What part of it is your name?”

He’s all too happy to tell them, running his hand along their hip. 

“And the other runes?” they ask, looking up into his eyes and remaining uncharmed. A trait, once frustrating, he now finds engrossing. It is their choice to meet his eyes and become lost in them.

Oh, how quickly he’s found himself attached.

“This one is Lust,” he says gliding his fingertip across their skin, translating a short series of curvy runes. His finger traces the other set, his eyes taking in the meaning but his voice falters for only a second. It's a word he's only ever written on Solomon before.

“Devotion,” Simeon supplies from his bed, watching the encounter with an inquisitive smile.

“Devotion,” Asmodeus echos.

That feels about right for this human who has wormed their way into his heart.


	5. Satan

There is a lot of time in between when Satan first offers his pact and when the human finally accepts. While at first angry over being denied, Satan does admit that the wait was worth it. 

They make the pact for the right reasons instead of petty ones; mainly spite.

He does it in his room, in his element and in his own skin again. Surrounded by his books and knowledge, he places his hand on their chest and begins to say the words of binding in Infernal. His words a low growl that emits from his chest that makes the hair on their neck stand on end.

It’s not as rare for him to make a pact, but it has been awhile. He feels his magic pour forth from his palm and into their being. He feels his magic brush against the seals of his brothers and then up against their blindingly shiny soul. There is temptation there for a moment, an urge to reach for their soul and bind it, to claim it for himself.

It’s how his pacts usually work. 

Instead he does not. Instead he focuses his magic to begin collecting on the small of their back and begin to take root there.

To the human, Satan’s magic is hot. Where Mammon’s had been like hot metal flowing through their veins, warm and thick; Satan’s is like fire licking at their nerves. Like dropping a lit match on the gasoline of their veins. There is no outright pain, but there is a discomfort. 

A discomfort that only intensifies as they feel their newest mark sear into place on their back in a moment of hotter intensity. Satan's magic writing itself into their skin and very being. 

When his hand falls away from their chest, he pulls a small hand mirror from a side table. Handing it over, they pull up their shirt and twist their spine to see the new sigil finish taking form in their skin. The magic of which glows an emerald green as it continues to solidify. 

“Which runes are your name and which ones mean wrath?” they ask, a bit more familiar with what each sigil entails now. Satan's mark in their skin is bold lines and crisp edges: geometric points and zig-zags around the border. 

Satan smiles - a genuine one and not his mask - as he traces his finger nail over a series of runes in an ancient dialect of infernal as he translates. The dialect is his choice and something more unique than his brother’s. 

They nod their head at his translation of the first two parts. “I don’t recognize the other runes,” they say. Something in Satan’s chest swells as they realize that his is unique among the handful they have.

“It’s a more ancient dialect of infernal,” he explains. His hand traces over the remaining runes, “This one means bond and this one means respect.” 

A rare gift for someone who sees him for himself and not as the parts of someone else.


	6. Belphegor

Belphegor offers his pact to them on the night of Diavolo’s birthday. In the weeks following the incident in the attic, he has quickly seen why his brothers have grown so attached. No one else would’ve ever put so much effort into piecing his family back together; thus offering his pact feels right. It is a small offering like an olive branch: a gesture of goodwill and apology.

As well as the means to give them power to stop him from ever doing it again.

Funny enough, to the human there’s something ironic about making a pact on Halloween night. They’re happy to accept his gift.

Belphegor places his palm on their chest, like his brothers before him. His fingertips coming to rest just below their neck, where he crushed the life from them. It feels odd to have his hand so close to that spot again.

He begins to say the words necessary for the pact to form. In infernal he calls for the denizens of darkness to bear witness to the formation of his pact. For those born of shadow and who give birth to it to acknowledge his power, his rank, and now his bond. He begins to push his magic into their being, feeling it spread across them and come into contact with each of their pacts.

To them the sensation of his magic feels like molasses dripping from a spoon. Everything grows slow and heavy. His magic is thick within them, moving leisurely from his palm to their veins. Staying awake and upright suddenly becomes a struggle; they fight the urge to collapse into sleep to avoid falling into the lake, knowing that it would put a damper on the party festivities.

His magic makes contact with their soul: the same one he saw when they expired in the attic. The piece of his sister still existing within the three realms. For a moment he wants to snatch it, claim it and hoard it like a magpie. To keep it for himself and away from the rest of the universe.

It is not in the nature of demons to resist temptation, but for this human he does.

They feel his magic begin to gather behind them on their back. His mark makes its home in between their scapula, sitting right along their spine. Just below the vertebrae that he crushed.

Before they can have a moment to examine it, his brothers show up. His hand leaves their chest and as a group they return to the party. 

Back at the house, they stand in their bathroom: their back to the mirror and another smaller one in their hand held up to see their back. Their shirt is pulled over their head but their arms are still in the sleeves, effectively covering their front. 

Belphegor's mark is matted purple in their skin, the shape taking on a sort of hypnotic aspect as they look at it through the mirror. There are tiny swirls dotted throughout, like little constellations hidden among the runes.

Belphegor stands in the doorframe, watching them look at his mark. Though he looks relaxed, almost bored even, there is a small prickle of anxiety worming its way inside his chest. He is their sixth pact, do they like the placement, the shape? Though it is not the intention nor in the design of pact marks, a part of him wants them to be happy with it.

To be happy having a piece of him within them.

“Like what you see?” he asks, unable to sit in the silence of their investigation any longer.

“Yes,” they reply and he has to swallow the sigh of relief that wants to pull itself out of his lungs. “Please translate the runes for me?” they ask, their fingers reaching over their shoulder to trace the outline of the sigil themselves. 

He approaches and, careful not to impede their view in the mirror, begins to point out the runes. As his fingers trace the outline, it glows a rich purple in response to his proximity; in response to his magic. “These are my name. These mean Sloth. This over here means bond. And these are...,” he translates with his fingertips lingering on the last of the runes. 

“Redemption,” is the last word he translates, the word falling heavy on his tongue. A mixture of his own and, perhaps, a lesson through them that humanity isn’t to be despised in the way he has over the last several millennia.

Also his small hope that their relationship together can be better than the lies and manipulation he started it on.


	7. Lucifer

Their pact with the first-born Avatar of Pride is made on their last night in the Devildom. The final hours before Lord Diavolo’s exchange program ends and they’re sent home to the human realm. 

Standing together in his office, he says, “I’m more than a name to be crossed off your list.” His human glamour falls away to reveal his demon form to them. Four black wings spreading out from his back. 

Though his demon form reveals itself to them, they stand their ground once more. Lucifer chuckles to himself for a moment; no they wouldn’t run at the display of power. They’ve seen so much more than when they first arrived a year ago.

The human who stood in front of him in the crypt and again in front of his youngest brother wouldn’t run from him now.

“I’ve always found that aspect of you irritating,” his pride demands him to say. Though his words are light and a smile is gracing his lips. “But as irritating as it is, it’s even more endearing.” 

He straightens up, walking from around the back of his desk so that there is nothing between him and the human who has fit themselves into his family. “Now listen, and listen well. I will not be your possession. I won’t belong to you. _You will belong to me_.” 

He watches their expression give nothing but understanding. “So what will it be? Will you make a pact with me?” he asks them. 

“Yes,” they answer. “I will make a pact with you.” 

“Good, then it is done.” He says, reaching his hand out to place against their chest. “As of this moment, you are mine.” It is the last words he says in the language they know. His next words are in infernal. The same words of binding that each of his brothers have spoken to them as they made their pacts. His words vibrate through them and the shadows bend and flicker about the room.

The ever watchful eyes of darkness bearing witness to his power and overseeing the formation of his pact.

His magic spreads into their being, brushing past his brother's magic throughout their body. He outranks them all. If he so desired, he could shove their placements out of the way. But he doesn’t, as he focuses on the span of skin under his palm.

“There’s still something I have to do,” they say, feeling the rush of Lucifer’s magic gliding across their skin. It feels feather light, warm, and very present. It is a powerful sensation. 

With his hand still on their chest, Lucifer looks at them a little shocked. “There is?” 

They reach for him, closing the gap between their bodies and bringing Lucifer in for a kiss. A tiny moan escapes the Avatar of Pride’s lips, a surge of magic rushing into his point of contact with their being. His clawed fingernails leave little indents until they feel a prick beneath his palm, so sharp it takes their breath away.

Where before Lucifer’s magic was a sensation like a winged embrace on their skin; now it burns, burning as red as his eyes. They can taste it on their tongue too. The absolute power of it heavy with his pride, but also a touch of lust. It is enough to make their head spin. They break the kiss for a gasp of air.

They feel his sigil spread across their chest under his clawed touch, pushing up against the border of Mammon’s. It dips into the valley of their pectoral muscles and up into their jugular notch. A piece of it will always be visible unless they wear high collared shirts. Lucifer smiles at the sight of it peaking past the line of their clothes.

Then Lucifer’s lips are on theirs again. His tongue gliding across their lower lip, seeking entrance which they give. He deepens the kiss as the final bits of his pact form within them.

“My room,” he orders them when their lips part once more. The red of his eyes glowing ever so faintly. They obey his command, letting him lead them from his office. They belong to him now after all.

All too quickly they are led to his room amid another series of deep kisses. The tingle of magic palpable on their lips. 

The two of them a tangle until he pauses by the bed. As the back of their knees hit the edge of the mattress, he eases them out of their shirt. Exposing skin and the fullness of his mark to his view.

They look down at themselves, seeing his mark for the first time. The weight of his name, his sin, and his bond written across their chest. The sigil glows a brilliant royal blue in the dim of his room at his touch. The mark itself is elegant, and deceptively delicate looking. There are curls in the border that mimic the shape of his horns and tiny diamond shapes hidden among the runes. 

His fingers remain against their skin. He doesn’t move, the two of them suspended and transfixed in the moment. 

Their hand comes up to cup his cheek and Lucifer moans. A soft, longing noise that they know that only they will ever hear as he leans into their touch. Lucifer’s eyes then come to meet theirs. 

“Translate it for me,” the plea tumbles from their lips as they look into his eyes. They begin to fall backwards onto the bed and Lucifer follows. His wings spreading as he kneels above them.

His hand returns to his mark in their skin and the runes light up that royal blue once more. “My name, Pride, permanence, and loyalty.” He says as his fingers delicately trace each of his runes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm biased, but I always kiss Lucifer after making a pact with him in lesson 20. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! I appreciate all the comments! Lucifer marks the last of the canon pacts from the game, so here on out we're heading into my head canon territory! :D


	8. Diavolo

Diavolo is the demon prince and the current acting ruler of the Devildom. His pacts are only ever handed out sparingly, and usually come for his exactly desired price. He has forged pacts with rulers throughout the ages: Kings, queens, emperors, dictators, politicians, presidents, and nobility who usually rise to titles beyond their limited social hierarchy. There’s something he finds deeply enjoyable about having power over rulers in another realm.

When he offers his pact to the human exchange student, it is an entirely new experience for him. They are no ruler; they hold no political influence, title, nor sway. Before their time in his exchange program, they were as mundane as humankind can come.

They still are, in a way. They are newly coming into their powers, just beginning to fit into the larger scale of the three realms. An ambassador of humankind with a piece of demonic and celestial heritage touching their soul.

When he made his offer to the freshly fallen Lucifer all those thousands of years ago, he never thought they would be a result. Though a part of his own demonic pride wants to lay claim to the credit of the result, he knows that he can’t. They are unique of their own accord and not because he laid the foundation for their being so long ago. Diavolo planned for none of it, and that is what makes the surprise all the sweeter.

When he offers his pact to them, it is a sign of good will and a seeking of the kind of connection he’s seen the brothers gain. This human came back to them - to the Devildom too - of their own free will and choice. Never before would he have thought that; that in having their choice of where they could go between the three realms would they choose his. 

Perhaps it is a bit of jealousy in seeing what the seven brothers have, but Diavolo would be lying if he said he hasn’t grown attached to them too. Two years is nothing for a demon, but he cannot recall a time when he was more engaged and eager to see each new day unfold. Perhaps that is the gift that humans have: so much emotion packed into their short lives and filling every moment around them.

So he manages to whisk them away from the gathered party, walking along a hallway of his castle as they chat. “I’ve wanted to ask,” Diavolo starts, “will you make a pact with me?” 

“I’m sorry, but I already belong to Lucifer,” they say, as if that is a deterrent. Diavolo outranks all of their current pacts after all.

“That was the wording of your pact, but he’s laid no ownership of your soul.” Diavolo explains. “I’m not looking to own your shiny soul either, as tempting as it is. I’d like to form a pact with you the way Lucifer and his brothers have.” 

“You want a pact with me?” they ask, almost disbelieving. Again it is a new experience for Diavolo. Humans have always sought his pact and never hesitated at his acceptance before. 

He finds it oddly refreshing to have the tables turned: to offer himself and to have them hesitate. “I do.”

And then they agree.

Diavolo places his hand on their chest, over Lucifer’s mark. He could move it out of the way if he so chose, but instead he directs his magic to glide past his best friend’s in the search for the perfect place to settle his pact.

Long familiar with the intensity of forging pacts, they find that there is a startling difference in the way that Diavolo’s magic feels as it spreads over their skin. It is a difference they should feel and notice, Diavolo is the current acting ruler of the realm and a god in his own right. His magic is strong; a raw power that tingles like static across their skin. They gasp when they feel his magic brush up against their soul, the sheer intensity of his power coursing within them.

His use of infernal is different to their ears too. There is a quality in the undertones they notice. The words are different from the words of binding they’ve heard seven times before.

Then there is a sensation like a lightning strike, swift and strong. A moment of hot intensity on their ribs as Diavolo’s sigil begins to write itself in their skin. 

Diavolo leads them into an unused room. In the privacy of a closed door, they move clothing aside to get a look at their newest mark. 

His is the largest sigil taking up the length of their ribcage on the right side, sitting atop it and spilling over onto their back. His runes making up the sigil glows black, becoming as dark as the void. It is an odd contrast to how their other sigils glowed with color. Yet still captivating and beautiful in its own way.

“Wow,” the sound slips past their lips as the intensity of the darkness in their skin softens as the runes finish their formation. They look back up to Diavolo and his patient gaze: studying his handiwork and drinking in their reaction. “Your words were different than the others.” 

Diavolo smiles at the recognition. No one else before them has ever noticed; though, no one who has ever had his pact has ever needed or sought out another demon’s either. “I use the royal dialect for such things,” he explains. 

He watches their fingers trace along the curve of their ribs and the shape of the sigil. The shapes along the border match the triangles he decorates his arms with, and there are intricate swirls and lines that mimic the golden caps on his horns.

They don’t ask him to translate, but he finds himself saying what each of the runes under their fingertips means. “My full name, authority, oath, and integrity.” 

All things that he values and sees in the human who chose to come back.


	9. Barbatos

To say Barbatos is stingy with his pacts is not entirely wrong. The seer and sometimes weaver of time does not really offer nor allow himself to make pacts. He is in service to the crown of the Devildom, he can’t just be summoned whenever a mood strikes a human pact-holder. 

Furthermore, his powers are tied to the current crowned prince. Permission to utilize his powers must be sought through Lord Diavolo first. Even Solomon knows this with his current long-standing pact. Rewriting and manipulating time does not come with his pact.

Until today, Solomon has been Barbatos’ only pact. Ever: there were none before and none since the sorcerer; until today.

He offers his pact to the only human who has ever seen and utilized his room. The only human who he has ever warped time for. 

It seems fitting.

“Will you accept a pact with me?” 

They are, of course, surprised, but accept the offer anyway. So Barbatos places his white-gloved hand on their chest. Every demon studies the words, knows what is required to form a pact; yet this is only the second time throughout all of history that Barbatos says them aloud. 

His words in infernal mark the beginning of his magic steeping into their skin. All at once, his magic is a peculiar feeling to them. Parts of their skin feel tight, others feel saggy: tight and loose with age. Bones and joints creak, others come back into alignment. Like time sifting, pushing, and pulling across their body.

Then the sensation moves, pulling away from their whole body to race down their arm and begin to pool there. Barbatos’ sigil comes to rest on the back of their hand. They look down at the sigil writing itself into their skin with a brilliant turquoise glow. Written among the runes are what appear to be clock hands and hourglass shapes. 

Barbatos’ hand comes away from their chest to hold their hand, to look at his mark as it solidifies. 

“My name,” he says, tracing the runes with his finger before they can ask. “You know these mean ‘bond’. This one means ‘time’. And this,” he says, catching their eyes as they dart from his newly formed sigil to his green-blue gaze.

“It means ‘eternal’.”

His pacts, though rare, do last forever.


	10. Luke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild Spoilers for Lessons 37-39. Nothing major and still in my headcanon land.

There is a difference in the kind of binding ties demons and angels forge. Most might assume that celestial beings give blessings, which they do in the same way that demons sometimes give curses. When it comes to forming a deeper, magical bond between a human and an angel, their version of a pact is an oath.

A year after the original exchange program ends and the issue with the Night Dagger is put behind them, Luke gives his oath to them; a promise of protection and guidance.

“After watching you, I realized that it isn’t right to condemn someone just because they’re a demon.” Luke says as they walk the gardens of the celestial realm. “As I’m watching you and everything you do, I sort of find myself liking humans more and more.”

They smile down at him. He is so much older than they are, but still so young for an angel. It’s moments like this that they really see it. “I’m counting on you to look out for me.”

“You mean it?” Luke says, and they laugh at his reaction. 

“Of course I do!”

Luke beams at them, looking positively radiant. If they didn’t know better they’d be afraid his true form is about to burst through the human glamour. Knowing their luck, he’d be radiant enough to burn their eyes out. 

“You got it! I’ll be your guardian angel!” Luke says in that excited puppy voice of his. 

“I’d love that,” they tell him.

“Then I’ll give you my oath!” Luke says and surprises them. They probably should’ve known there was an angel equivalent to pacts. Where demons and devils make pacts, they learn that angels make oaths.

Luke asks them to kneel so that he can reach them. They do and Luke places both of his hands at their temples. Then Luke begins to speak.

Familiar with the sounds of infernal, they are surprised at the massive contrast to celestial. Where infernal is a language of growling, deep rumbles coming from deep within the chest; celestial is practically lyrical. The sounds of words in the language are lilting, like wind chimes and birdsong. 

As Luke speaks his oath into them, they feel a warmth spill from his fingertips. It cascades down from their head to their body. With a quick glance they can see it flowing over their skin like glitter on a gust of wind. 

Luke’s golden mark settles on the back of their hand, the one opposite Barbatos’ sigil. They look at the small golden symbol in awe. Demon pact sigils are intricate, containing several runes and a central mark within a circle. Angel oaths only have the one symbol. Where their pact sigils glow in accordance and in reaction to their respective demon's magic; they find that angel oath symbols pulse with a soft light.

They stare, mesmerized by the faint heartbeat of light coming from the symbol on their hand. 

“Do you like it?” Luke asks after a moment.

“I love it, thank you.” They reply. With Luke’s symbol in their hand, they feel like their guardian angel will have a hand in everything they do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [SerFox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerFox/pseuds/SerFox) ([Thalfox](https://thalfox.tumblr.com/)) for sending me the moment where Luke becomes MC's guardian angel. I appreciate it since I've been stuck on lesson 25 for awhile now!


	11. Simeon

Simeon offers his oath to them after handing them the ring. After prying the Night Dagger out of their hand before the worst possible mistake can be made.

He comes to them afterwards, to apologize. For not saying anything when he knew, for not letting them know where he disappeared to.

With the same bit of celestial grace running through their veins, the same bit responsible for their forgiveness of Belphegor’s actions, they forgive him too.

“I will never put you in that position again,” Simeon tells them. “I want to give you my oath.”

“Can I have more than one?” They ask innocently enough, showing the mark of Luke’s oath on their hand. “Luke already offered to be my guardian angel.”

“There is no law that says you can’t have both of our oaths,” Simeon states. “But I understand if you don’t-“

“It means a lot that you’re offering, Simeon.” They interrupt. “If you want to give it to me, I’ll happily accept it.”

So Simeon cradles their head between his hands and begins to speak. The words flowing, light and lyrical, in the air around them. Though they are not as familiar with the celestial language, they can tell that some of what he says is different from what Luke said during the creation of his oath. Luke’s use of the language sounded like wind chimes and birdsong, but Simeon’s sounds like a gentle whistle of wind and the rustle of tree leaves. 

Where Luke’s magic was warm, Simeon’s is like wind. The sensation that cascades down their body from Simeon’s hands feels like a gentle breeze on a hot summer’s day, like wind that rustles tree branches and keeps kites afloat. It is a soothing sensation, a feeling of peace coming to rest over them.

As the sensation grows, they watch silvery glitter fall across their skin as Simeon speaks. As he finishes, as they feel the sudden shift of the magic gliding across their skin begin to pull back and gather; Simeon brings his lips to their forehead in a chaste kiss. His lips warm and comforting for the fleeting moment they are upon their skin.

His hands fall from their head, and one of his finds its way into one of theirs. He brings them over to see their reflection and they gasp a bit at the sight. 

Simeon’s oath mark shines on their forehead, centered between their eyes. Like a silver kiss upon their forehead. It reminds them of the black diamond that adorns Lucifer’s forehead in his demon form, but uniquely theirs. 

Luke’s oath has a faint pulse to it, but Simeon’s has a steady radiance.

“It’s my promise to you to watch over your safety,” he tells them. “I promise to never leave you in the dark and without information again.”


	12. Solomon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note, **don't** mix your blood with another persons. It's a huge health hazard and is how serious diseases like aids get spread. What is described here in this fic is just my headcanon and for fic reasons. Don't do it in real life.

Demons make pacts and Angels make oaths, but humans are adaptable and innovative. Humans have their own way of magically bonding to one another. For all the complaints that humans are weak in comparison to both demons and angels, it is surprisingly in their weakened forms that some of the strongest magic in the three realms is available to them. 

Blood magic.

It is risky, often volatile; but also strong. Blood pacts are what humans do when they want to tie themselves to another person through magic. Linking together their lives and forming a connection between their mortal souls.

He laughs a bit at their hesitation. “I won’t turn your hair white like mine or take away your sense of taste if that’s what you’re afraid of.” He tells them how it is done, as well as the pros and cons of making such a bond.

There is a moment where they wonder if Solomon was a salesman in his extraordinarily long life. He is immensely good at convincing them. 

They agree and meet up with him back at his room in Purgatory Hall. Together they sit in an intricately drawn pentagram with flickering candlelight around them. 

“Ready?” Solomon asks, handing the handle of the dagger to them. One crafted for such purposes. 

They take the handle offered and run the blade across their palm, just as Solomon did moments prior. They hold their bleeding palm up to Solomon, who closes his atop theirs. They put their bleeding cuts over the other, letting their blood mingle.

He lights another candle between them, it’s flame flickering black. He starts to say his part of the incantation. Speaking over him, they look at the page in their lap and start to recite their part. Where demons and angels have their choice of language in either infernal or celestial, humans have such a wonderful variety to choose from. 

Solomon’s magic is unlike the magic they’ve felt from their demonic pacts and angel oaths. His magic feels like snowfall. It is chilly, present and deceptively delicate. As it accumulates, spreading through them, the sensation grows colder and colder. Till the chill is bone-deep and the only thing they feel.

They can see their own magic running across Solomon’s skin and they wonder what he’s feeling. How does their magic feel to the immortal sorcerer, they wonder. 

There was a time they thought that only crazy occultists did these sorts of things. Now they know what the real deal entails.

They watch the candle burn, wax dripping and pooling on the floorboards beneath them. It’s a quick burn, the wick being consumed faster as the magic weaving between them grows stronger.

As the last of the wax melts away, they watch the black flame flicker one, twice, then out. The wisps of smoke immediately rise to join with the magic running through them. It joins at their hands, and weaves its way through their arms and into their torsos. It’s a fascinating sight. It doesn’t feel warm or like anything actually. It is an entirely noninvasive element of the spell.

Then the cold subsides. They watch as the magic that had been spreading across their bodies is pulled back to their joined hands by the smoky wisps.

They feel their skin knit back together. The cut along their palm tingles and seals over in a thin scar line.

Together they release their hands and look down at their palms. 

In the pad of their hand, along the muscle that runs to their thumb, is a small mark. It is not as intricate or detailed as the pacts and oaths within their skin; but it is just as captivatingly beautiful in it’s own right. It glows white before dulling into a silver in their skin like old scar tissue. It is small, delicate, but they know - can feel - it’s strength.

“Some might expect the Seal of Solomon, but I prefer this,” Solomon says, tracing an identical symbol on his own hand.

It is a push and pull, an ebb and flow of magic between the two of them. A link between them both. A blood pact with Solomon means sharing power. It means knowing when the other is in danger or in need of the other's strength.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the end! Thank you all so much for reading! I'd love to hear your feedback and thoughts!


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